My first day of real catamaran distance racing proved to be a very interesting one. As the Texas coast curves east as you approach Mexico, the imaginary line between South Padre Island and Mustang Island is just the perfect course for a downwind spinnaker run given the prevailing winds. And the forecast for the start promised not to disappoint. Unfortunately, the wind was a little lighter than everyone hoped. After the spinnaker-up start, most teams had trouble getting enough power to clear the surf. There was lots of pitching, rolling, and a few near collisions of boats at the mercy of the breakers. Our strategy in particular proved to be a poor one as we wanted to head straight for Mustang Island before even clearing the breaking waves, taking a diagonal course to the shore. This kept us in the breakers for longer, which really prevented us from building speed. The other boats which left perpendicular to the shore spent less time in the breakers, then turned down to their proper course as soon as they could. We probably lost a good quarter mile to the lead boats… woops!
Never mind the slow start, we had 91 nautical miles to catch up. For the non-sailors reading this, a nautical mile is basically equal to one minute (1/60th) of one degree of latitude. This differs from a statue mile by a factor of 1.15, so we actually had almost 105 “regular” miles to make up time. Also “knots” are basically nautical miles per hour, again, scaled by 1.15 to get mph. So the very slow 6 knot wind we had at the start was actually close to 7 mph. Despite everyone’s best wishes, it is this dog-slow 6 knot wind that persisted for about the first two hours of the race. I spent this time on the “low” hull, trimming the spinnaker with each puff and wave. Normally you see catamaran sailors out on the trapeze on the “high”, or windward hull, but when the wind is light, you move as much weight as you can down low, or leeward, to try to get the windward hull to fly. Some old-school catamaran sailors call this the “Wild Thing.” Hmm… makes my heart sing?!? We eventually figured out that if we stayed just outside of the breakers along the beach, that the wave action causing our mast to pitch generated enough wind through our sails to propel us a bit faster than the competition. We made up a bit of the ground we had lost, but there was still a long way to go!
Eventually, the wind picked up and it was time to get out on the trapeze. I put a “doubler” on the spinnaker sheet to make it easier to trim, which is basically a 2-to-1 pulley system. Again for the non-sailors, sheets are ropes used to trim sails, halyards are ropes used to host sails, and every other rope is pretty much called a line. We were sailing as close as we could to the rhumb line, which is the direct compass bearing from the start to finish. There were some boats higher than us (closer to the wind), and some lower, each executing their own strategy. On this leg, the rhumb line takes you 20-30 nm offshore, so we quickly lost sight of land, and could only steer by compass or GPS. Depending on the wind strength, either me or both me and Michael were out on the trapeze wire. The wind was out of the SE for almost the entire time and our bearing was due North, so we were sailing “deep” or close to the direction the wind is going – downwind. After several hours of this, we lost sign of most other boats, and weren’t quite sure where we stood in the fleet.
Things were going well, and with our then boat speed of about 16 knots, we were predicting another 45 minutes of sailing when the storm clouds on the horizon started getting scarily close. About 10 nm from the finish, we felt a very cool breeze flow in and the wind direction start to change, the approaching low-pressure storm sucking air in from above and around it. Michael then yelled out “Get the spin down… NOW!” I flew in off of the trapeze wire, blew the spinnaker halyard and tack line, then started pulling it in as fast as I could. All of a sudden we went from going downwind to upwind, and the wind strength was increasing fast! As the storm overtook us, the wind direction returned to normal, albeit with much higher velocity… I estimated between 30 and 40 knots, which is really fast for these boats with their large sails and light weight. Our sails were still trimmed for going upwind, so after the shift we were heading directly away from the finish. To return to that course, we had to bear away – a dangerous move in these conditions. Michael executed this perfectly, and we were then heading deep downwind, going far too fast for the hull length and buoyancy. In this kind of wind and sea state, the bows can get driven under the top of a wave, and then the change in momentum and high pressure at the top of the sail can cause them to continue to plunge into the sea. If this continues and the bows don’t pop up, the boat will pitchpole, which is basically a front flip for a boat… not a good thing. We shifted all our weight to the back of the boat and were avoiding pitchpoling, but we still had to gybe – switching from downwind with the sails on one side of the boat, to downwind with the sails on the other side of the boat. Again, this can be a dangerous maneuver in high wind. As we gybed, we probably headed up a bit too high (close to the wind) after the boom flipped from one side to the other, and we capsized – not a pitchpole, but instead a roll onto the side of the boat. Michael jumped off the back of the boat, and I slid down the trampoline to the water below. I’m 99% sure I managed to avoid the boom… but more on that in a bit.
You might think that everything slows down once the boat and the crew are in the water… but you would be wrong. The large trampoline between the hulls of a catamaran, roughly 8 by 10 feet, immediately becomes a large downwind sail that pushes the boat far faster than anyone can swim, let alone someone encumbered by boots, a life jacket, a harness, all kinds of other gear, and already tired from 10 hours of sailing. Knowing this, I grabbed for whatever I could and held on for dear life. Somehow I was able to quickly get up on the lower hull floating on the water, and “under” the former bottom of the boat. Michael managed to hold on to the mainsheet, and I helped him into position near me. As I grabbed for the righting line on the trampoline, I realized that it had come undone and had to be re-routed before we could get the boat back upright. We did this as quickly as we could, then Michael instructed me to right the boat by myself. Normally, it takes two sailors and a lot of effort, but with the wind so high, as soon as the sails emerge from the water, the wind helps to push them back upright. In high wind, this force can be so high that the boat continues to roll and immediately capsizes on the other side. To prevent this, Michael sat on the lower hull and planned to quickly crawl onto the trampoline to counter the momentum of the mast and force of the wind. I wrapped the righting line around my trapeze harness hook, then leaned off the hull until I was just above the water. The boat moved slowly at first, but then the wind caught and whipped the boat upright. As the boat came down on top of me, which is completely normal when righting a catamaran, I prepared to grab the front crossbeam / dolphin striker. With me hanging on below and Michael’s weight on top, we managed to keep the mast pointing upward, but then the boat began to sail away upwind… fast. I was then hanging on below the trampoline, being pulled through the sea. It took all the strength I had to pull myself up to the front hulls, then lift me and all my water-logged gear on to the trampoline. I arrived to watch our now-broken metal boom switch from puncturing the trampoline to tearing the mainsail. Michael was steering the boat directly into the wind to decrease the pressure on the sails, as well as our velocity through the water. He asked me to take the helm so that he could drop the mainsail and stop the sharp ends of the broken boom from doing any more damage to the boat, or worse, us.
Michael later told me that it normally takes 10+ tries to get the main sail to uncleat from the top of the mast, but in this dire situation, he managed to get it on the first attempt. I helped him to lower and roll the sail, then detach the boom and get it safely on the trampoline. Fortunately, the wind direction was now almost directly pointed towards the finish, so we eased the jib and headed straight downwind. I looked at the GPS on my wrist and we were doing 9 knots dead downwind (a very slow point of sail for a catamaran) with only a jib (less than 1/10th the total sail area of the boat). Michael asked me to turn our rotating wing mast perpendicular to the wind, and this small increase in the profile of the mast (it is shaped like an airfoil) added another 2 knots to our speed and we then averaging 11 knots. Crazy! The knot in my throat finally began to subside as I felt like we were at least in control and headed to safety despite the large seas and high wind. After 10 or so minutes of sailing in this configuration, the wind began to subside a bit and our speed decrease. Michael became worried that we would become stranded 7 nm offshore. He handed the tiller to me, then got out the satellite phone and began calling people to let them know we might need assistance. Unfortunately everyone we knew was at the finish line beach, where there is no cell coverage. Oh well, we would have to manage all by ourselves.
Once our speed dropped to 5 or 6 knots, still with 20 or so knots of wind, we tried partially hoisting the spinnaker to present a bit more sail to the wind. This didn’t work well, and the spinnaker managed to get all wrapped back on itself. I asked Michael why we shouldn’t hoist the entire thing, and he reminded me that the main sail works as a back stay for the mast, and without it the spinnaker would cause the mast to break. I suggested we use the now-available main halyard as a backstay, which we did, and fully raised the spinnaker. From our earlier hoist, the kite was folded on itself and would not fill. All the flapping had also opened up an existing tear to become a gaping 4-foot hole in the fabric. After 5 minutes of flogging, it eventually popped open and began pushing us along. Our speed increased to 8-10 knots, and we calculated that we would take less than an hour to finish.
45 or so minutes later, as the sun was preparing to set, we spotted flashing yellow lights at the finish. I counted only 3 masts sticking up on the beach. 9 of 12 boats had yet to finish, and we could see no others on the horizon. We had an uneventful beach landing in the rough surf, our ground crew handed us some beer, then we went off to do an interview with Sailing Anarchy. After recounting our experience, we learned that two boats had finished before the storm, the second only minutes before the winds picked up. The third boat, a Hobie Wildcat skippered by Chris Green, had actually pitchpoled in the surf as they approached the beach. They barely managed to keep their mast from breaking in the shallow water. Then, we had to wait for word from the other boats…
I was walking around when the VHF radio I forgot I was wearing crackled to life. It was an alert on emergency channel 16 that an EPIRB, or Emergency Position-Indicating Radio Beacon, had been activated, and it was registered to one of the boats in our fleet – Team PACMEN. Their position was unknown, and they had yet to be spotted. Uh Oh…
Eventually we spotted other boats approaching the beach with varying amounts of damage to sails, battens, rudders, and lines. Everyone had been hit by the storm… hit hard. We learned that Team Quicksliver was calling the Coast Guard from their satellite phone, as their mast had filled with water and they were unable to get it back upright. We shook hands with the exhausted sailors on each boat as they arrived, then, ourselves being quite exhausted, we headed to the hotel with the fate of the remaining boats and crews uncertain. The next morning we would learn that both Team Quicksilver and PACMEN had been rescued, treated for minor hypothermia and strained muscles, and released. What a day!
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